Straightjacket
by Rhea-samma
Summary: Gods he hated this. It was his mantra.


I'm kinda dizzy as I'm writing this by the way, so some typos might make it past my revisions XD DARK FIC, THIS SHOULD MAKE YOUR SKIN CRAWL OR I HAVE FAILED! (Um.. I'm not a sadist. Really Dx)

I was doing some "reasearch" for awesome clothes Watari mgiht wear. (Latex, cyberpunk, leather, rocker stuff, labcoats, you know XD) When I came across these really.. hot straightjackets. But what intrigued me more was the description for one of them which read as thus: " In the late 1800's, some mental institutions used to color code their straight jackets depending upon the depth of insanity. Red being the most severe. It's an oddity in itself. Red was banished not too long after the codes started. A study showed that the color red triggered violent episodes. For the safety of staff and patients, they done away with the colors. The color white is a calming color, which is now widely used." So that's where this dark, sick puppy came from. And gods, I made Watari crazy--AGAIN D: (sobs)

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**Straightjacket**

Watari Yutaka was insane.

Not the cute, friendly, funny sort of insane that people were used to associating with him, no. This was, unsafe around self and others sort of crazy. A malady of the mind so strong, his body, soul, and mind were all but disconnected, tethered together by the merest of threads.

Tatsumi stopped outside of Watari's cell. The secretary didn't even know why he came anymore. It was a habit long in the forming, and he hated every minute of it. Hated it because each time he saw this new Watari, he would forget the old one a little bit more. He looked in through the bars on the steel door. He was sitting in the corner hunched over like usual hair obscuring his face, wrapped and bound in his black straightjacket. Black with lightning-yellow stripes.

Black for the rotting of his mind.

Yellow for the warning he was dangerous. Like a wild and poisonous beast, "don't touch me."

The door clicked and swung forward on its hinges.

Tatsumi knew that was his invitation. Gods he hated this.

He stepped forward into the padded room. Chains rattled as Watari lifted his head to look at Tatsumi, color leeched from his eyes entirely. Gray, gray, vapid and gray. What color had Watari's eyes been? Hadn't they been gold like the sun at one time? Brown like honey? Didn't they used to flash and shine with every thought and feeling?

The sheer amount of magic put into Watari's chains made Tatsumi's teeth ache a little, like he'd been clenching his jaw for too long.

The kagetsukai held his breath, maybe Watari wouldn't notice him today. He felt so .. responsible. He knew it wasn't his fault, he _knew_ who had done this to the man, but he still felt culpable.

Those blank eyes stared at him and a desperate voice that was too tonally flat called to him, "Tatsumiiiiii..." Was it wrong to wish the man wasn't in a talkative mood? (And yet somehow Tatsumi wanted to give everything and anything to have the endless droning of that Kansai accent back.) "Tatsumiiii..." How could madness take away even that? That Kansai-ben he was so proud of? "Tatsumiiii.. I _need_ you. I want you Tatsumi." It was as if Watari had forgotten he'd made these decelerations before.

He shook his lank hair out of his face, "Tatsumi...where are you? I want you.. I want you to distraction...I'm so lonely in here..." Tatsumi felt wetness on his cheeks. Why? Hadn't his heart acclimated itself to this by now?

"I'm right here Watari." That head tilted back and those unreadable eyes reflected something like disbelief,

"..Really?"

"Of course. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Would _I_ lie to me?"

"Watari.. you're not imagining me."

"Easy for you to say," _hallucination_. Was the unspoken epitaph.

There was a long silence. Tatsumi almost considered leaving.

Then,

"Screw me." Take me, fuck me, fill me, feel me, do me. Just let me borrow your sanity!

It was awkward, as it always was, there were too many restraints, but at least the chains were long enough for Watari to roll over and scoot away from the wall. Tatsumi fumbled with the straps. It was too dark in here, but light would have made the situation even more unbearable. Because that would mean he'd have to _see_ what he was doing.

Without semblance of intimacy and with near-offensive haste Tatsumi shed his tie, jacket, and pants. Watari moaned in a parody of anticipation, voice oddly flat. Tatsumi didn't even have to strip Watari. He loosened the strap between the man's leg so that it could be moved aside, and then he simply slid the man's pants partway down his thighs. He left the arm straps secure, even binding them a little tighter, as they had loosened since the time he came last. (The first time he had given into Watari's request, he'd almost killed them both. Tatsumi didn't even consider freeing his arms anymore.)

He summoned his shadows, covering the windows, plunging the room further into darkness. Watari's body responded to the familiar stimuli, arching up against Tatsumi's form. The secretary did away with his briefs, disgusted to find himself hard as a rock. Even this watered down, phantom version of Watari still had that power over him. "Watari.."

"Fuck me Tatsumi, fuck me hard. I want to see stars.. I never see them anymore." The secretary reached down around those hips to play at that erection, brisk and business-like in motions. Another almost moan, as if Watari _wished_ for it to be genuine. "Tatsumi screw me. Screw me through the floor, I want out of here.." Oh gods he hated this.. times like now when Watari was lucid, or near enough to it, that he was _aware_ of his situation. At least most of the time he _wasn't_ aware he was crazy. Or at least it was claimed... Hisoka once said it was like Watari was 'nowhere.'

But if sex was the only escape he could over, then sex he would give.

Watari's body writhed, even if vocally he was off and disconnected from what was going on. And those hip bones, those straps, those cheeks rubbing flush against his pelvis were driving up his body heat, seducing him into wanting more against his will.

Somewhere from the floor Watari's indifferent voice floated up to him, "Tatsumi..." The secretary understood and put his shadows to use again, trendils snaking under that coat, going places he couldn't, caressing and tickling those hands that weren't allowed to move. He guided himself to Watari's enterance, disquieted by the notion that _anyone could use Watari as a receptacle for his or her desire_, and then banished that thought away. He used another shadow to shield his skin from direct contact, earning a true groan of protest from Watari.

"Noooooo..." Tatsumi frowned,

"It hurts any other way.. for me too." Watari's voice sounded bitter as he shot back,

"So? So what if it hurts! Everything hurts, existing hurts, _I_ hurt.. all I want to do is be with you and you won't even let yourself touch me... I just want to feel you.." Tatsumi half-cursed and reached down around those hips again and coated his fingers in the liquid gathered there. Using his own pre-cum he did his best to form a makeshift lubricant before placing himself at the ring of Watari's enterance again.

"Better?" A nod, and Tatsumi could see, even in the darkness, the wet glimmer of tears.

Gods how he hated this. Their bodies sliding against each other in the dark, Watari's off-key, out of place screams of desire, his own need for the action, the fact that he _liked_ how it felt.. everything. Everything about this was _wrong_ and it continued to be _wrong_ and it rankled Tatsumi. Each thrust cut into the man beneath him deeply and keener than the edge of any knife. And for a scant moment as he came, and when Tatsumi followed just behind him, his achromatic eyes flickered gold.

Again in haste Tatsumi cleaned himself off and fixed Watari's straps and pants as they had been. He dressed himself both swiftly and reluctantly, not wanting the feelings of 'sullied' to transfer themselves onto his clothes, and not wanting to linger.

He had to go home now. Had to. He would go home, change, shower, jerk off, shower again and then hide under the covers for the rest of the day. That's how it went. He raced to the door. Watari already curled up in his corner again. But it seemed no matter how fast he moved, no matter how quickly he fled, Tatsumi always heard the sigh of...

"_Muraki..._" With inordinate pleasure. Tatsumi knew if he turned back he would see Watari, staring vacantly with too-familiar silver eyes, unaware of his presence, heedless to the fact that he had spoken. Tears ran down Tatsumi's cheeks again as he exited the room. Oh gods he hated this. He hated that doctor for what he had done.

Vengeance rights and honor vows be damned.

Tatsumi would _kill_ that doctor one day, for everything he had done.


End file.
